Rafe crouched on the windowsill, a sleek black wolf in a tux.
Let him go.
I’d known he hadn’t returned to Montreal to see me. But my heart had hoped I was wrong, that he’d come back for me. That second chances actually existed.
I should’ve called security on him the moment I found him in my rooms. But I couldn’t think straight when he was around.
Let him go.
Rafe Kral was a weakness—a craving—I couldn’t afford, especially now.
I was this close to having the one thing I’d always wanted. Power.
The kind where no one would ever again brush me or my ideas aside because I was too young and “soft”—or leave me on an island for months at a time with just Jean-Michel, the servants and a couple of thralls to make sure I was fed.
Rafe’s face and body greyed-out, losing color and blurring at the edges as he entered the shadow dimension.
And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him go.
I’d tried to forget the man for two years, and it hadn’t worked. I was damned if he’d crash my party, get me all churned up, and leave.
“Prove it.” I shot forward and snagged his wrist, anchoring him in the physical world. “You say my mother and Étan lied about those texts? Then prove it.”
He twisted his arm, forcing me to release him, and clamped his fingers around my wrist instead. Dark eyes scorched mine. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
Need licked at me. In the ballroom, his glamour had muted his raw sex appeal. Now, it battered me like a hot, wild storm.
The pent-up longing of two years swamped my emotions. My fangs pricked out.
I wanted to bite him and drink deep.
I wanted him to hold me down and bite me back.
I wanted to feel that hard, damn-your-eyes body naked against mine.